


Just Like Alice

by Kirsten



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-15
Updated: 2007-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:10:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirsten/pseuds/Kirsten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So first there was this ghost hoodoo priestess haunting a cemetery, and then there was Sam cussing up a blue streak and Dean stuck right in the middle of it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Like Alice

**Author's Note:**

> For the From Ashes ficathon. Vaguely inspired by Jefferon Airplane's "White Rabbit".

So first there was this ghost hoodoo priestess haunting a cemetery, and then there was Sam cussing up a blue streak and Dean stuck right in the middle of it all. But how awesome was it that the cold old bitch cursed Sam? That right there was something new, something not normal at all, because it was usually Dean got his ass kicked by the old school mystic crap.

Dean got her trapped in a salt circle and then set about digging up the bones. Salt and burn, salt and burn, and it was a lot of work, and Sam was useless what with being blind and all. But, still, it was _Sam_ who got cursed. Sam would see the funny side later. Probably way later, but he would.

"Lady," Dean said conversationally as he shovelled dirt over his shoulder, "before I waste you, I just have to say. Nobody messes with my family and gets away with it, so you've gotta pay. But I do appreciate this turn of events."

Hoodoo ghost bitch snarled and fluttered in his direction, and Sam growled and said, "Shut up, Dean."

"I feel just like Alice," Dean said, and grinned when he hit the coffin.

"Six foot tall, sick and twisted man Alice," Sam muttered. "Let's dress you in blue skirts and an apron and pretty shiny girl shoes, make this whole situation even freakier."

"I'm six one, you bastard." Dean heaved the coffin lid away and climbed out of the grave, tossed in the salt and the fuel and a couple of burning matches. The bones burned and the hoodoo bitch screamed merry hell and then melted into the ground. Dean surveyed the progress of the blaze with the satisfaction of a job well done, and then he turned and checked on Sam.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," said Sam, blinking and scowling in Dean's direction, and Dean knew, he just _knew_ that Sam was sitting there making vengeance plans for all Dean's mockery.

Awesome.

-

So they filled in the grave and packed up their gear, and then they headed back to their motel room a few miles outside of town. Sam took the first shower, and Dean made sure the lights were down low for when he came out of the bathroom. After all, it couldn't be pleasant coming back from blindness into bright, and Dean was nothing if not a kind of considerate brother.

Dean showered fast, wanted to know what Sam was cooking up in that over-heated brain of his.

It wasn't long before he found out. Sam grabbed him from behind as soon as he stepped out of the bathroom, put Dean on the bed and on his back, handcuffs around his wrists and the bedposts to keep him right where Sam wanted him. Dean's dick was hard and leaking all over his stomach, and he groaned, "Fuck, yes," when Sam put the blindfold over his eyes.

Sam slapped his thigh. "You're not supposed to like it."

"Guess you don't know me as well as you thought," said Dean. "That the best you got?"

"Christ," Sam said, and his voice was harsh and broken, but there was nothing broken about his hands when they turned him over and started beating on Dean's ass. Dean groaned and got up on his knees and kept his head down low, spread his legs and hoped like hell Sam had that idea in mind, too.

Turned out, Sam didn't. "I'm not going to fuck you," Sam said, when he finally stopped swinging. "Don't think you deserve it, Dean."

"Sam," Dean groaned, and ground his cock into the bed, desperate for friction, heat, anything to get him off.

"Stop that," Sam said, and gripped Dean's hips in his hands, scraped his nails over Dean's ass hard and Dean found himself choking on a cry. "Don't you come," Sam warned, and Dean gasped and worked to hold it back.

"Try and get some sleep," Sam said, and he got off the bed and crawled into his own, and Dean knelt there and listened as Sam's breathing deepened into slumber, and all while Dean waited, cuffed and hard and helpless.

-

In the morning, Dean said, "You're a son of a bitch."

"So are you," said Sam. "What? You asked for it."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

"Shut up," Dean said. "I was gonna blow you, but now? Not so much."

Sam looked up from his computer and said, "Serious? At this rate we'll never have sex again. No joke."

"Hey, this isn't my fault. You're the one started it, left me hanging with nowhere to go, you total hooker bastard." Dean shoved clothes into his bag, fished his dirty socks out of the sink and shoved them in, too. He dumped all of Sam's stuff on the floor.

"Hey!"

"I'm not your housebitch," Dean snapped. "Do it yourself."

"Oh, that's _it_." Sam pushed back his chair so hard it clattered to the floor, came up close and crowded Dean back against the wall, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, but Dean damn well gave it a shot because, fuck, his dick hadn't got so hard so fast since he was fourteen and sucking on Mary Cooper's tits outside of that roadhouse somewhere in Illinois. Sam, though, jeez, he saw nothing Dean wanted him to see and everything Dean didn't, and he had a knee between Dean's thighs faster than Dean could blink.

"This is what you want, isn't it?" Sam whispered, and he bit at Dean's neck.

"Dude, you're too fucking easy," Dean said, and he bit Sam's neck right back.


End file.
